The Man With The Child In His Eyes
by Shaddyr
Summary: Jarod tries to sooth a little of Miss Parker's tension away...


The Man With the Child in His Eyes   
[by Shaddyr][1]   
* * * *

Miss Parker and Jarod (sigh) do not belong to me, I'm only playing in NBC's universe and I promise to put them back when I'm done. This story is purely for entertainment, yadda, yadda, yadda, you know the drill. Go! Read! Enjoy! 

The Man with the Child in His Eyes   
by Kate Bush   
1978 

* * * * 

  


_" I hear him before I go to sleep_   
_ and focus on the day that's been..."_

Miss Parker stepped onto her balcony. Her silk robe whispered as she settled into the   
lounger, wineglass in one hand, book in the other. She had a craving for a cigarette but she resisted. It was a beautiful warm evening, the scent of jasmine filled the air, and she was determined to sit, relax and enjoy her book. Life had been too crazy lately. She was drained and needed a break. She told everyone that she was to be incommunicado for the next 24 hours, and forbade them to contact her on pain of death; even her father had acquiesced. She took a long swallow, set down her wine glass and opened her book. 

Her cell phone rang. 

"DAMMIT!" she yelled, throwing the book on the deck. "I thought I turned that damn thing off!" She picked up the phone, fighting with the impulse to whip it as hard as she could away from her. After a moment, sanity prevailed and she flipped it open. 

"If there isn't some life threatening emergency as the reason for this call, I will hunt you down and kill you!" she bit off venomously into the phone. There was a brief pause. 

"A little touchy tonight Miss Parker?" asked a familiar voice. 

Parker rubbed her forehead with one hand while debating the wisdom of simply hanging up. "Jarod, this is my night off," she began evenly. "I am not in the mood for your machinations. I am not going to play your games." Her tone became more strident. "If you were to show up on my doorstep tonight, I wouldn't even waste the energy to lift my gun and shoot you. Now leave me the hell ALONE!" She was shocked at the borderline hysteria in her voice. Judging by the absolute silence on the other end, so was Jarod. 

There was a click and the line went dead. She closed her eyes and sighed. She should have known. But then she had to admit, at least to herself, she had. She hadn't turned the phone off because, somehow, she knew he would call. Didn't he always? 

****

After several hours of fruitlessly trying to read, she gave up in exasperation. As interesting as Diane Ackerman usually was, even her engaging essay on the senses was failing to hold Parker's attention. She put the book down and reached for her wine glass. Empty. Standing, she shivered slight, and ran her hands up and down her arms. Taking the glass with her, she went back into the house. 

After pouring more wine, she flicked on the TV and watched it about 3 minutes before she flicked it off in disgust. Nothing but crap on the tube. She went back out to the balcony to get her book, sat down and flipped it open. Idly twirling her fingers through her hair, she read:   


> "...how we hide our faces in our open palms to be alone to pray, or that they may receive our tears: how we run our hands briskly up and down our arms as we pace; how with wide eyes we press an open palm to one cheek when we're startled. Touch is so important in emotional situations that we're driven to touch ourselves in the way we'd like someone else to comfort us."

She stopped, startled, and abruptly disentangled her fingers from her hair. She didn't like the tone this was taking. It was far too close for comfort, making her examine things she didn't really want to look at. Emotional situations. Touch. Comfort. Things that turned her thoughts in the worst possible direction. 

She stood up, and began to pace the length of the deck, only to stop short as she realized she was again rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "This is NOT going to happen," she said determinedly as she felt her inner defenses begin to weaken. Purposely dropping her hands to her sides, she picked up her empty wine glass and reentered the house.   


_"I realize he's there_   
_when I turn the light off and turn over,_   
_nobody know about my man_   
_they think he's lost on some horizon..."_   


An hour later, she sat in front of the television. On the table in front of her, sat the empty wine bottle beside a yet unopened pack of cigarettes. She was watching an inane comedic serial, so far from what real life was to her that it bordered on the bizarre. _I can't believe people actually watch this stuff_ she thought . The characters in the program were engaged in all sorts of odd maneuvers to try to figure out who was sleeping with whom. She shook her head and laughed mirthlessly as the closing credits rolled. _So much for a relaxing evening reading_ she thought. 

She looked longingly at the Marlboro's, but decided, once again, against having one. The wine had left her feeling relaxed. After taking the bottle back into the kitchen, albeit a little unsteadily, she walked into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror. The woman who looked back was pale , dark circles under her eyes. She looked empty. She looked lonely. She.. _Enough of this crap_ she thought, ineffectually attempting to shake herself out of it. She perfunctorily brushed her teeth, washed up and went to her bedroom. 

Pulling the bedclothes back, she crawled in and stretched out on the bed. With a heavy sigh, she reached over and turned off the light... then she froze. There was a presence in the room. Even in her wine-fogged state she reacted quickly, instinctively reaching for the gun that wasn't there. She shimmied down the length of the bed, only to find her path blocked. Lunging at the looming figured, she tried to push past, only to lose her balance and bring him down on top of her. As she struggled to get free, she became aware he was laughing. She felt the blood drain from her face as she realized who it was. 

"Jarod!" she raged, infuriated. "What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Between the wine and the shock of his sudden appearance, she was feeling rather light headed. It wasn't doing much for her rather tenuous emotional control either 

Jarod got to his feet and offered her his hand. "Helping you... if you'll let me," he replied enigmatically, his dark eyes alight with a curious mixture of amusement and compassion. 

Parker ignored his proffered hand, getting to her feet on her own. She stood and glared at him for a moment, then brushed by him, heading for her gun. His hand shot out lightening fast, spinning her around to face him, so quickly she almost lost her footing. She had to clutch at his neck for support, his other arm automatically encircled her to keep her from falling. Her breath caught in her throat as she suddenly found herself in a most awkward position. 

"Now, now, Miss Parker," he said in a lightly admonishing tone. "You told me that you wouldn't waste the energy to shoot me if I should show up on your doorstep. You can't go back on your word." 

Her mind was screaming at her to DO something, yell, curse, kick, anything... her body, however, had an entirely different agenda. "You're not ON my doorstep," she pointed out hoarsely, struggling ineffectually against his grasp. His proximity, the scent of him, made coherent thought difficult. She shook her head and looked defiantly at him. "Jarod, why are you here?" she demanded. "Really." She looked into his eyes, and felt dangerously close to the brink of doing the unthinkable... it would just be so easy... _No!_ she berated herself silently 

Jarod , she noted , seemed to be having some difficulty in focusing himself. "I was concerned about you," he answered slowly. "And I just couldn't resist an invitation like that," he added with an impish grin. Before she could give voice to the protest rising within her, he let go of her arm and laid a finger across her lips. "I know what you said," he said softly, sending chills down her spine. "But the last thing I think you need right now is to be alone." 

Unexpectedly, his fingers traced the along the edge of her lips, down her chin, up her jaw line, finally to bury themselves in the silky hair at the back of her neck. She gasped as his strong fingers began to kneed the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders. "You know," he said in a deceptively bland tone, "you really should see a massage therapist for this kind of tension."   


_"suddenly I find myself_   
_listening to a man I've never known before_   
_telling me about the sea,_   
_his love's to eternity.._

_ooooooooooh, he's here again, the man with the child in his eyes_   
_ooooooooooh, he's here again, the man with the child in his eyes"_   


His fingers were magic, already bringing soothing relief to tension she hadn't even been aware she was carrying. She resisted at first, twisting against his grasp. Even as she did, she felt her muscles cry out it protest. "So, yet another talent to add to your resume? she asked sarcastically. "What did you do, Jarod, work in a sleazy massage parlor for awhile between your 'missions'?" 

Jarod sighed, and stopped what he was doing. A small groan of disappointed escaped before she could stop it. Jarod gave her that smug look she hated. "Doesn't make a lot of difference where, does it Miss Parker, as long as it helps?" he taunted, his hand moving back up to continue where he'd left off. 

Damn him! Why did he have to be right so often! He let go of the arm he was holding, then startled her by slipping behind her to work on her neck and shoulders with both hands. She knew she should bolt, but it was hypnotic, the feel of his hands on her shoulders, his body so close to hers. He methodically worked out the knots in her upper back, then set to work on the kinks in her neck. 

Her hair was getting in the way. She felt him tuck it over to the side repeatedly, only to have it fall loose again. Unconsciously, she reached back and twisted it into a loose knot, her fingertips brushing his face in the process. She quickly dropped her hands, her cheeks growing warm at the intimacy. Jarod's touch changed, becoming less clinical, more a caress. He moved his hands over her shoulders, his fingers catching the neckline of her silk robe, sliding it down her arms to pool at her feet. Her sleeveless nightgown seemed slight protection against the heat of his body suddenly pressed up behind her. She felt his breath as he leaned in to kiss the nape of her neck. One of his arms slid around her waist, holding her tightly to him. His other hand described small circles as he lazily drew his fingers up and down the bare skin of her arm. 

She couldn't breath, caught in a kaleidoscope of sensations. He left a trail of burning kisses around her neck as he turned her in his arms to finally capture her lips with his own. 

The intimacy of the moment slipped past all her well maintained guards and the reservoir of resistance within her cracked. There was nothing left in her that wanted to fight him. She turned her face away from him as she felt an unfamiliar sensation. Tears were threatening, the sting of wetness hot in her eyes. She tried to pull away from him again, but he gently captured her face with his hand and turned it towards him. She felt humiliated that he would see her like this, weak, vulnerable, but it was too late. Her guard was down and she was exposed. Now, she knew, he could crush her with a single word. 

"You're beautiful," he whispered huskily, wiping a tear from her check with his fingers. She reached up to brush the wetness away and he caught her hands in his. "Don't be ashamed," he insisted fiercely. She was startled by the vehemence of his statement. "I know you're not the ice queen you pretend to be. You can't hide from me," he said, pinning her with his stare. Denial rose within her. 

"You're wrong," she insisted, unconvincingly. "Just too much wine, too much stress" She tried to pull away, but he captured her with an arm and drew her close again. 

"You can't lie to me. I know you Parker." 

It was intoxicating, his warmth. His persuasive voice as he whispered to her things that she secretly longed to hear. His touch as it satisfied her craving for comfort. The carefully hidden truth that deep inside, it was Jarod she wanted these things from. The pain that came from that admission was heart stopping. Tears flowed afresh. _No!_ she thought, grasping for the shards that were left of her defenses, but it was too late. The floodgates were open. She hid her face in her hands and wept.   


_He's very understanding_   
_and he's so aware of all my situations_   
_when I stay up late_   
_he's always waiting when I fear, when I hesitate_

_oh, I'm so worried about my love_   
_they say no, no it won't last forever_   


He pulled her close, then in one quick move, scooped her up and carried her over to the bed. He sat on the edge, swung his legs up, then inched back until he was leaning up against the headboard with her still in his arms. He pulled the comforter up over them, and gently rocked her. 

A detached part of her wondered what in the world was happening. Had she completely lost her mind? Why had her defenses fallen so completely, in mere moments? And before the very man she proclaimed as her nemesis for the last several years no less? 

Jarod was stroking her hair, nuzzling her head, assuring her it would be okay. Okay? She turned her tearstained face to his. 

"Jarod, it's never been okay. It never will be. And now, now we can't even fake it   
anymore." The words spilled out, things she would never say, things she had only admitted privately, and even then shied far away from. "What they did to you... what they robbed us of... what I let them fashion me into... it will not be 'okay'!" Her bitterness over things stolen oozed out. "All the things I have done, the way I came to despise you, hunt you like an animal, and for what?" She paused for a moment, her voice soft, ragged as she continued. "I hate them for taking away the things that mattered most! My mother. My innocence. You."   


_but here I am again, my girl,_   
_wondering what on earth I doing here_   
_maybe he doesn't love me,_   
_maybe I just took a trip on my love for him_

_oooooooooooh, he's here again the man with the child in his eyes_   
_oooooooooooh, he's here again the man with the child in his eyes_   


Jarod glanced away from her, the revelation catching him off guard, while at the same time, the full weight of her admissions settled upon her, making her stomach queasy. A silence stretched out between them and she began to regret her words. While he might find her attractive or desirable, or even care for her on some level, she had never held any illusions that he had deep unrequited feelings for her. After everything she had put him through, chasing him, trying to take from him his hard won freedom, she thought it would be anything but. She shifted in his arms, attempting to move away. 

"What makes you think that now that I have you I'd be willing to let you go?" he murmured as he pulled her in close. She glanced up sharply as he looked at her again, a strange expression on his face. "We can build something new to replace what they took," he said, eyes shinning with emotion. "We don't have to let them win. You don't have to let them win." 

Her heart raced. "What are you tying to say Jarod? That we could just 'settle down', you and I?" she asked over the lump in her throat. "What do you suggest? I thumb my nose at the Centre, say 'See ya!' and walk out?" She snorted derisively. "You know better than that! No one can ever be free. They will always win, even if it's just by sheer dogged determination, not letting up till they run your resistance into the ground... or they kill you," she finished woodenly, eyes downcast. 

Jarod delicately brushed the hair back off her forehead, his thumb gently caressing her cheekbone as his fingers followed the side of her face till they came to rest beneath her chin. He lifted her face up. Unwillingly, she looked at him. "Better some freedom, some life on our own terms, then a lifetime on the puppeteers strings. I would rather be free to BE on the run than back at the Centre." His voice held longing, almost desperation. "And I think you would feel the same. Come with me." 

"I can't," she whispered brokenly. "This is who I am, who I have become. I don't think there is anything else. I don't know how to BE anything else." She looked up at him, stricken. "How can you even want me to come with you after all that's happened? I don't know why you don't just hate me." 

His arms around her tightened. "I could never hate you. Don't you know that by now?" His voice rang with regret. "I love you." 

Her head was spinning. Love? He loved her? Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears, she thought he must hear it. Her eyes began burning again, grief warring with joy, disbelief with amazement as she tried to process what he had just divulged. She stared at him dumbfounded. 

He smiled at her befuddled look. "Is it really so surprising?". 

Mutely, she nodded. 

Absently, he stroked her hair, an unconscious gesture of comfort. He leaned in to kiss the top of her head, but as she tilted her head back, the kiss landing on her forehead instead. He cocked an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile. She reached up and slid her hand around his neck, pulling his face down to hers. His mouth stopped millimeters from hers. 

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asked raggedly. 

"At the moment, I really don't care," she replied, bridging the gap, kissing him thoroughly, hungrily. The strain of the evening, the shocks, the high emotion were abruptly translated into desire. Her body was charged with sexual tension and quite suddenly she really didn't give a damn about next week, tomorrow or even 5 minutes from now. 

She twisted around in his embrace and pushed him down on the bed. She kissed him again, suggestively, provocatively. He groaned in response. Undoing his shirt, she worked her way down, pausing after each button to kiss his chest. His gasp when she ran her hands down his chest, over his stomach to stop at his belt buckle spurred her on. She was just undoing it when he sat up and grabbed her wrists. 

"No," he said hoarsely. "Not like this. I don't want it to be cheap. I want it to be beautiful. Not like this." 

She couldn't believe it. "Jarod," she began dangerously, "this is probably never going to happen again. If you don't let this happen, 'it' may never happen at all." There was fire smoldering in her eyes. 

His self control was obviously shaken by his own evident desire, but his resolve was firm. "I want it to be out of love, Parker. Not lust. Not a few too many glasses of wine. You mean too much to me for it to be less than that." 

"I hate you for this Jarod!" she hissed at him, yanking her wrists away. The dull ache of unfulfillment was nothing next to the rejection she felt. 

His voice was thick with desire and regret. "I would rather you hate me for not taking advantage of you than to have you hate me for doing so." He put a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her. She pushed him away. 

"You see everything as so black and white, Jarod. That's a child's view of things. You've been in the real world long enough to know that life's not like that. You take what you can get and try to find some happiness in it. Wait for perfection and your going to miss out on the things you could have had. For a genius you can sure be an idiot!" 

Stung, Jarod reached over and pushed her down, then pinned her to the bed. She yelled at him, cold fury glittering in her eye, but he silenced her with a kiss. She struggled to free herself, but as the kiss continued, she gave into it. After a few moments, though torn between conflicting desires, he pulled back to look her in the eyes. 

"You may not think so right now," he spoke shakily, "but some things are worth waiting for. If that's a child's view, then so be it. I happen to think that you are one of those things. So I will wait." He kissed her again, making her ache with longing once again. 

Quite suddenly he released her. It took her a moment to regain her equilibrium. She sat up too quickly, only to lay right back down until a wave of dizziness passed. "Jarod?" she called out. He didn't answer. She sat up again, this time more slowly. She looked around, but he wasn't in her room. She swung her legs off the bed and stood up. 

Carefully, she made her way into the front room and looked around. He was gone. She sighed suddenly feeling extremely tired. She turned to go back to her room when something on the end table caught her eye. She walked over to find a single red rose, it's perfume sweet, unnoticed before but now filling the room. Beside it was a hastily written note. It simply said "I'll wait for you." 

She placed the rose in a vase on her table, then went back to her room and crawled into bed. It smelled like him. The tears came again, unbidden. _He thinks I'm worth waiting for,_ she thought to herself. She snuggled under the covers, almost able to imagine having him with her. As she lay there, her tension drained and was replaced by a sense of peace she hadn't felt for a long time. _I think your worth it too, Jarod_ she thought as she drifted off to sleep.   
  
  
  


   [1]: mailto:shaddyr@bc.sympatico.ca



End file.
